


Bits & Pieces

by Laura_Raptor



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: F/M, Sexual Tension, Stakeout, will they wont they
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-10
Updated: 2013-10-14
Packaged: 2017-12-29 00:32:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/998735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laura_Raptor/pseuds/Laura_Raptor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Horseman copycat killer is on the loose and people are losing their heads over it! It's up to Abbie and Ichabod to figure out who is taking the heads and why, all while trying to figure out just what is going on between the two of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The incessant squawk of the box with the lit time seemed to cry in tandem with the knock that came pounding on the door of the motel room that Ichabod Crane had come to call home, for the time being at least. Crane peered through heavy lids to see that a slice of sunlight cut across the unexpectedly comfortable bed that he slept upon. With a heavy swing of his hand, Crane tried in vain to silence the head splitting cry of that infernal box that sat near his head, but to no avail.

“Crane?” Lieutenant Abbie Mills familiar voice roused from the other side of the door. “Are you decent?”

Without answering her, Ichabod swung his long legs over the side of the bed as he sat up, silently cursing the continuing cry of the alarm. He knew that keeping miss Mills waiting would be a bother to both of them in the end, so quickly he slid on his faded trousers before opening the door to greet the woman who had become somewhat of a partner.

“Good morning, lieutenant,” Ichabod greeted Abbie at the door.

“Morning,” Abbie mumbled as she realized that Crane had greeted her in only his trousers, the top half of him bared to the cold, late October morning air. She tried to keep her eyes above his shoulders to avoid any awkward glances at his bare chest. His hair hung loose and tangled from the previous night’s sleep, and his eyes seemed redder than usual. That’s when Abbie heard the alarm sounding in the background.

“Trouble with the alarm?” she asked, trying not to let a giggle pass through her lips.

“If you must know,” Crane said in admission of defeat. “Yes. I cannot seem to make the damn thing cease.”

“Here,” Abbie offered as she slid passed Crane and into the darkened motel room. “Just flip this switch,” she showed him as she talked. “It should turn it off.”

As Abbie flipped the switch off she double checked the time it had been set for and this time she couldn’t help but laugh at her poor partner. “Has this been going on since three in the morning?” she laughed out loud.

Crane’s refusal to answer as he pulled his thinning shirt over his head was confirmation of her question. Lieutenant Mills composed herself and offered an apologetic smile to Ichabod. She needed to remind herself that while sometimes she couldn’t help but be leery of his claims, he was completely out of his element most of the time and she should be offering him help, not laughing at his expense.

“Come on,” she said in a much more professional tone while Crane pulled his hair back off his face. “I think we could both use some coffee.”

They exited the motel room and walked towards Mills’ police cruiser. To anyone looking upon them, they might cut an interesting picture. She, in her plain clothed police uniform of brown slacks and a matching blazer, gun exposed on her hip and he, towering over his partner while wearing clothing from another time that were quickly thinning from constant washing and rewearing. Abbie had offered many times to help him pick out new clothing, something that would help him fit in a little better. Yet he constantly refused her, adamant that he preferred his own clothing to what the current styles had to offer.

“I assume there is a destination we are heading to?” Crane asked lieutenant Mills as he gazed out the window of the cruiser. He was beginning to get use to riding in the car and part of him wanted to ask her to teach him how to drive it as well, but while he knew she would be happy to teach him, he also worried how he looked to his partner, her having to help him with so much. He didn’t wish to burden her anymore than he already had. 

“First coffee,” Mills answered quite seriously. She needed her second coffee of the day, and she needed it now. “Then we need to head over to the cemetery. Sounds like some kids were having a little fun before Halloween, but the captain thinks there’s a chance it might be something a little more sinister and wants us to check it out to be sure.” 

“Fun?” Crane asked as Abbie turned the cruiser into the Starbucks parking lot. “In a cemetery? What could children be doing for fun in a cemetery?”

Abbie allowed herself a hopefully unnoticeable eye roll before she answered. “Not children, exactly,” she told him as she parked the car and got out, waiting for Crane to follow. “Teenagers. Halloween is only a few days away and knocking over headstones and being a bit destructive comes with the holiday.”

“An odd way to celebrate, but I suppose this is considered normal?” Crane asked, a little perturbed by lieutenant Mills’ indifference to the desecration of hollowed ground.

“Not normal,” she corrected as she held the door open for her partner as they walked into the coffee shop. “Just expected this time of year.”

“Good morning,” a chipper young barista in a standard green apron asked from behind the counter. Her smile never wavered but Abbie caught the young woman giving Crane a once over, her eyes lingering just a little too long. “What can I get for you?”

“Venti bold with an extra shot of espresso,” Abbie clipped at the young woman. As soon as the slightly snippy words left her mouth she regretted her tone. She didn’t know why the young girl’s obvious attraction to Crane bothered her like had. Abbie had to admit that yes, he was an attractive man, but he was still technically married, and Abbie certainly didn’t have the time or energy to waste looking at her partner like that.

“Sorry,” Abbie professed. “Just need my caffeine. Get a little cranky without it.”

“That’s okay!” the barista assured her with a glowing smile. “I totally get it.” Then she turned to Ichabod and asked him for his ordered.

“What do you have to offer in terms of tea?” he asked as he took notice of her name tag and added, “Miss Claire,” which made the young girl giggle.

“Sure! We have a selection of Tazo teas including Awake, Calm, Green Peach, Chai, Passion, Vanilla Rooibos, Earl Grey -”

Ichabod cut her off there. “Earl Grey would be fine, thank you.”

A weird sort of awkward silence fell between Mills and Crane as they waited somewhat impatiently for their drinks to be ready. Something about how Abbie had spoken to the young woman behind the counter seemed strange to Ichabod and he couldn’t quite put his finger on what seemed odd about the whole exchange, while Abbie couldn’t shake the weird embarrassment she was feeling. 

A crackle sparked across Abbie’s radio, thankfully calling attention away from the growing silence that crept between partners.

“Lieutenant Mills?” Detective Morales’ voice cracked across the radio.

“Go ahead,” Abbie responded as she turned from the counter, leaving Ichabod to get their drinks.

“Mills, we’ve got a, well, I’m not quite sure. But you need to get down to the Cutler place, and now. And bring Crane.”

“No can do,” she answered. “Captain has Crane and me heading over to check out those cemetery vandalisms.”

“I think he’s going to want you over here,” her fellow officer responded. “I think the headless guy is back.”

“Crane,” Abbie called as Ichabod picked up their drinks. “We gotta go, now.”

Panic ebbed at the walls of Mills’ stomach. The last time the Headless Horseman showed his… well showed up she lost her partner and mentor. She looked up at Crane before taking her coffee from him and worry crept over her at the thought of losing her new partner.

“Lieutenant?” Crane asked as he took a sip of his coffee before returning to the cruiser. “Is everything all right?”

“No,” she admitted as they got back in the car. “The Horseman is back, and I think he’s had another victim.”

Crane returned her statement with silence, pondering as he sipped his tea and Abbie drove, sirens on their cruiser waling as they passed through town. Crane wondered what made the Horseman reappear, and why now? The moon was not full, there had been little if any signs signalling his return, and above all else his intuition was telling him that it wasn’t the Horseman. Somehow he knew without knowing, and wondered if it was the strange connection he shared with the Horseman that allowed him to know this. 

Still, he kept silent. Telling the lieutenant would only raise more questions and right now she seemed troubled enough. They could discuss it later when she seemed more herself. It troubled Crane to see her looking so worried, and he couldn’t help but watch her face as she drove. Little lines of worry gathered by the sides of her mouth as she seemed to fret and he wondered if there was something he could do or say to ease her worry, but nothing seemed appropriate.

Speeding down the town roads, racing through red lets, Abbie and Ichabod arrived at the gated estate of the Cutlers in under five minutes, but there was a circus waiting for them. Abbie wasn’t surprised to see a news van waiting there, a murder on the property of the wealthiest family in town? Of course there would be interest.

Abbie parked the car, but raised a hand to stop Crane from leaving before they had a word. “see that van right there?” she pointed at the van with the antenna and the sign that read “News 5 Action Team” in bold red letters.

“Yes?” Crane answered, not truly sure what a van was, but he could see where she was pointing at least.

“Do not, and I mean do NOT speak to anyone from that van. They will have cameras and they will take what you say and twist it. Just don’t speak to them. Or anyone who isn’t a cop. Actually, anyone who isn’t me.”

Crane was taken aback. He’d been working hard to become personable with the lieutenant’s fellow officers and to be taken seriously. Now Abbie was telling him he couldn’t talk to anyone but her? The thought of it made him indignant.

“Why?” he asked, but she didn’t look like she was going to be forthcoming with an answer.

“Just,” she sighed. “Sometimes I’m still not sure I believe everything going on. If this gets on the news? It could be bad news for all of us. Just try to keep your head down.” 

As they left the cruiser Abbie was once again reminded of how much she wished Crane would let her help him pick out new clothing. He was sure to stick out amongst the other officers, and she prayed her fellow cops would be smart enough to avoid talking to the cameras.

“What do we got?” Abbie asked Morales, who was bent over the corpse, examining the dirty, bloodied body. 

“Morning, lieutenant Mills,” he greeted her, then turned to offer Crane a nod. “Mrs. Cutler came down to get the paper this morning, found the gardener like this and she called us from her cell right away.”

“Wait,” Mills asked, looking over at Crane before she proceeded. “This is the gardener?”

“Yeah,” Morales confirmed. “Kid by the name of Carlos. He’s been working here for about six months, started when he got into town. By all accounts a hard worker who kept his head down and was pretty quiet.”

While Mills got the run down from Morales, Crane took the time to look over the body, going straight to the most obvious cause of the death; the victim’s head had been removed from his shoulders. This wasn’t like the others though, there was no clean slice and the grass was stained with blood. The wound had not been cauterized like the previous victims. In fact, it appeared that the head was removed with what might have even been a dull blade, and poorly at that. The wound was ragged, hacked, and unclean.

“Lieutenant,” Crane called to Abbie. “Come look at this.”

Quickly Abbie was beside her partner, wanting to chastise him for referring to her as ‘left tenant’ where the cameras might here, but quickly she saw what he was calling attention to. She too saw the ragged wound and the blood soaked ground. This wasn’t the Horseman, and she knew it just as well as Crane.

“Detective Morales,” Abbie called to her former lover, doing her utmost as always to seem professional. “This wasn’t the work of the Horseman.”

“No?” he asked, raising an eyebrow to the unlikely pair, then giving Crane a very different once over that the one he received from the barista. This one was territorial, and somewhat of a warning.

“No,” Abbie repeated as she sensed the tension between the two men. “The wounds on the previous victims,” she swallowed hard, remembering finding her partner in that barn, the wound on his neck when she found him, “was cauterized and clean. Look at this,” she pointed as she pulled on a blue glove and lifted a flap of skin with her finger. “This is a mess.”

“You thinking copycat?” Morales asked as he took a closer look.

“Maybe,” Abbie shrugged. “But it’s not the Horseman and therefore as it stands it’s not part of my investigation. I trust you can handle it without us.”

She didn’t wait for a response. The alpha male tension was palpable and she didn’t need to be part of some pissing contest between Crane and Morales before she’d had a chance to finish her coffee.

Thankfully Crane kept quiet until they were safely back in the cruiser where their words were their own. 

“You knew it wasn’t him before we got here,” Abbie asked, no, told Crane. “How?”

Ichabod himself couldn’t be certain of the reason. He just knew, and thankfully the proof was there for anyone who took the time to look.

“I don’t have an explanation for it,” Crane told his partner. “I just know it. It’s outside reasoning, this I know, but I knew.” He wasn’t ready to admit how deep his link to the Horseman might run, not even to himself, so that detail he decided to keep quiet.

“We’ll let Morales handle it,” Abbie told Crane, trying to keep her voice still as water as she spoke her ex-boyfriend’s name. “We’ve got to get over the cemetery before the captain has my head.

It was a weak attempt at a joke to lighten the tension, but Ichabod gave her a soft chuckle. He enjoyed working with Abbie, even though he knew she was hiding much from him. It was only fair, as he knew there were things he couldn’t yet speak of to her either. At the current time, their partnership was beneficial, and he even dared to admit, very enjoyable.

Though silence fell in the cruiser, this time it was enjoyable. Crane enjoyed riding with Abbie, watching the road as they traveled. It was comforting in a strange way, and though this time was strange and confusing, having lieutenant Mills with him made things seem a little less daunting. If this business at the cemetery turned out to be as mundane as a simple beheading, as odd as that sounded, maybe he would admit some small defeat and let Abbie take him to the place she called ‘the mall’.

It was clear from the moment they arrived at the crime seen that things certainly were going to be much more complicated. Simple vandalism it was not, Ichabod instantly recognized many ancient demonic symbols outlining several unearthed graves.

“Lieutenant,” an older officer greeted Mills and her partner. 

“Deputy Hurt,” Abbie greeted the slightly overweight officer with a curt nod. “What happened.”

“Well, we aren’t sure, but we can see why the captain requested you two.” The deputy gestured towards Crane with a nod of his head. “Four graves in all, all from that wreck on I-95 a month or so back, the big one with the tanker truck.”

“I remember,” Abbie nodded glumly. Four college kids died just about instantly when their car lost control and slammed head first into a fuel tanker. She’d been in charge of making sure the clean up crew catalogued each severed limb, and it had been a long, arduous job that she cared to not repeat.

“We’re not sure how they did it, but somehow they dug up four graves without waking anyone.”

“Maybe it was a few people?” Abbie offered a guess as she watched Crane circle an empty grave.

“Lieutenant!” he called over to his partner. “Come look at this.”

Before Abbie could answer, Crane was asking for her pad of paper and a pen, quickly creating the diagram painted around the grave.

“Blood?” Abbie asked as she leaned down to get a closer look at the red marks in the dirt. 

“We think so,” Deputy Hurt told her. “We’ve already sent a sample to the lab.”

“What does it mean?” she asked Crane in a low voice, not sure if the deputy would take this as seriously as it needed to be.

“I’m not sure,” Crane answered, his eyes never leaving the sketch pad. “But I know I’ve seen it before. We must go back to the office, I think I know where to look.”

“One sec,” Abbie told him as he circled the grave once more. Before taking off again she wanted to be sure they hadn’t missed anything imperative, but the graves were clean. Not eve a speck of dirt appeared to be out of place, save the strange marks on the ground. She got the all clear from the deputy before she drove her and Crane back to the station.

“What is it?” she asked in the car, unable to recognize the strange marks on the pad of paper; they were much easier to see when they weren’t marks in the dirt. The symbol was a strange oval, almost like a pentagram but with strange, foreign letters marking around it.

“I’m not sure,” Crane told her as he studied his sketch. “I’ve seen it before, I’m certain of it. I believe we will find the answer in Washington’s bible.”

Abbie led Crane through the station, trying to ignore any of the looks her fellow officers gave her on their way by. Though strange things were continuing to happen in town, when word got out to many of the other officers that Crane might truly be a man from 250 years in the past, many were reluctant to believe it, instead cracking jokes at her and Crane’s expense.

“You take the bible,” Abbie told Crane as they made it to their safe space within the station walls. “And I’ll see what I can find online.”

“On what line?” Crane asked, his face comically puzzled and Abbie smiled at him, enjoying his strange naivety. 

“The internet,” she tried explaining with a laugh, but that only served to confuse him more. “It’s like books, but they are all in one spot and can be looked at through a viewer anywhere in the world.”

“Fascinating,” Crane said as he gazed over her shoulder as he logged on. “What’s millsa1993?”

“My log in name.”

“Why is it different than your real name?”

“Because there can only be one Abbie Mills online and it was taken.”

“Wait, but why can’t you have the same name?” Crane was only becoming more confused and while Abbie loved watching the wheels in his head spin, they had work to do.

“Focus on the bible. I’ll show you the internet later.”

Ichabod focused on skimming each page in Washington’s bible, yet nothing brought him closer to the meaning of the mysterious symbol. Occasionally he would glance up at Abbie, watching her eyes dart across the screen of the laptop she was using, and he wanted to ask her more about this ‘internet’, but remained quiet, knowing work had to be done. The symbols were decidedly sinister and they needed to find the origin before worse things appeared.

“Crane,” Abbie called to her partner and he stretched his long legs out of their curled position on the couch where he read to come join her. “Look at this.”

On the screen Abbie showed Crane a page dedicated to ancient glyphs and symbols, finally revealing the mysterious diagram they’d found in the cemetery. “It’s old, from the ancient Celts,” she told him and watched as he poked the symbol on the screen with his finger, startling himself as the screen changed to a fuzzy green and purple where he’d pressed.

“Yeah, the computer doesn’t like that,” she told him. “Does that help at all?”

“I’m not sure,” his voice was a low murmur as he thought. “Does it say what it means.”

“Just that it’s ‘a giver of life’,” she shrugged. “But that doesn’t sound to bad.”

“It does when it surrounds a grave. Something tells me those bodies climbed out, and now they’re roaming free.”

“Impossible,” Abbie shook her head. “I saw those corpses, and they weren’t walking anywhere. Besides, what would anyone want with the corpses of four guys who were basically road kill?”

“Mills,” Morales greeted Abbie, while offering Crane only a glance as he entered their private sanctuary. 

“What is it?” Abbie asked, startled by his appearance.

“Found something weird on that gardener, might be related to the grave robbing. It was a grave robbing, wasn’t it?” Morales asked her before continuing.

“As it stands now,” she told him, offering no more. 

“Well, that gardener wasn’t just working with top soil,” Morales told her as he handed her the file. “Dirt matches the stuff from the graves. Whoever took the head of that gardener also took those bodies.”

Abbie looked at Crane and saw on his face the same thing she was feeling. This was their case after all, and they needed to solve it before anyone else met the fate of that poor gardener.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With almost no sleep and no leads, Ichabod Crane and Lieutenant Mills are running on fumes and out of time to catch a killer

Despite spending most of the day locked away in the archives, trying to figure out what that strange symbol had to do with the poor gardener found on the Cutler’s lawn, neither Abbie nor Ichabod could find a link. The bodies stolen from the cemetery were college kids, and rich ones at that. There was no link between them and the Cutlers’ former gardener, Carlos. Abbie had even taken the time to show Ichabod what Facebook was in a desperate attempt to find a link between them, but there were none to be found.

After a quick meal at some man named McDonald’s restaurant, Abbie had dropped Ichabod back at his motel room so that he could get some much needed rest. Abbie tried to keep him awake with her chemical energy concoctions, but Crane had refused and instead was falling asleep in the office due to his troubles with his alarm clock that morning.

“We both need rest,” Abbie told him as she dropped him off. “I’ll pick you up at eight tomorrow morning. With clear heads, we’ll find what‘s missing.”

Ichabod had been too tired to give her more than a nod as a reply. Almost stumbling over his own feet from his need for rest he first pulled himself towards the cramped motel bathroom. One thing he’d discovered he quite enjoyed about what was an often strange and confusing future was the bath, or the shower portion of it, to be clear. 

Once Ichabod had figured out how to get the temperature just right, hot and steamy, he would be happy to stand in that stream of water for hours if he could. The hot water beckoned him to enjoy his missed morning shower and he couldn’t refuse. The day had been long, and something about this case left him feeling tense. The hot water would relax him before he slept.

Peeling off the sweaty clothes that were the evidence of the day’s work, Ichabod stood naked in the small bathroom while he waited for the water to warm itself to his liking. He ran the comb Abbie had given him through his silky hair, picking at a knot that didn’t seem to want to come untangled.

Giving up, Ichabod stepped into the hot water and let everything weighing his mind down wash away, leaving nothing but calm, empty thoughts. Nothing could bother him in this moment, and he enjoyed it immensely. Ichabod let his mind clear and for a moment there was nothing.

Then there was her face. Not Katrina’s, his Katrina, but hers. Lieutenant Mills. A soft smile on her full lips, her eyes gazing at him with comfort and understanding. For a fleeting moment Ichabod allowed himself to imagine that she was there in that shower with him, naked and wet. In his mind her fingers reached up and stroked the side of his jaw, along the hard hairs of his beard and for only a second he let himself succumb to the thought.

Guilt and shame began to wash over him, not relaxation. He should be thinking of Katrina, not Abbie. He loved his wife, even after 250 years of secrets, he loved her. Yet even after he pulled himself from the strange fantasy, he could still feel where Abbie’s fingers had caressed him. 

“Crane,” he could almost hear her call him through the fall of water. “Crane, are you in the shower?”

This time it wasn’t a fantasy, Ichabod realized that the voice was coming from his makeshift bedroom and now he worried that his strange fantasy was going to come true and it both excited and terrified him.

Quickly he jumped out of the shower, almost slipping and splitting his head as he did. He couldn’t let the lieutenant see him without his trousers and he called through the door. “Just having a quick shower!” he told her, trying to force his voice to steady itself. “Is something the matter?”

“I just got the call,” Abbie told him from the other side of the door. “We’ve got a second victim. I’ll wait outside for you.”

“Thank you,” Ichabod said as he poked his dripping wet head out of the bathroom door. “I’ll be right out.”

“Uh huh,” Abbie said as she saw the flushed look on Ichabod’s face. “Get dressed. I left something on the bed for you, if you don’t like it fine. But try it.”

Ichabod waited until Abbie was safely out of the room before he felt safe in leaving the bathroom. Despite a weird desire itching inside of him, he had no wish for his partner to see him so exposed. A silly fantasy was one thing, acting on it would be something else entirely and he refused to be anything but faithful to Katrina.

He forced himself to think of nothing but safe, clean thoughts as he looked to the bed to see what lieutenant Mills had left him, and was pleasantly surprised to see it was a pair of trousers and a shirt that were, in fact, quite similar to his own only without being so threadbare.

“Thank you,” Ichabod said as he met Abbie outside, thankful that the melancholy left by his fantasy had all but dissipated as he stepped into the cold night air. “I’m surprised you were able to find something more to my liking. Where did you procure clothing so similar to my own?”

“It was a,” Abbie stumbled over her words, trying to find something that wasn’t ‘a costume shop’, though it was the truth. “It was a specialty shop,” was what she settled on and Crane seemed satisfied with the answer. “More importantly, we have another victim.”

“And may I ask who said victim is?”

“Thankfully, alive,” Abbie told Crane, which surprised him greatly. “Kid got lucky, and so did we. We have a witness to question.”

Abbie drove the unlikely duo towards the hospital while Crane forced himself to drink one of Abbie’s vile cans that promised to keep him awake for five more hours. Though the hot shower had done at least something to wake him up, Ichabod still felt groggy and tired and if he had to drink one of these ‘energy drinks’ to wake up some, he was willing to make that sacrifice to get to the bottom of the case.

“Our victim is a white male, twenty-two years old male,” Abbie briefed Crane as they pulled up to the hospital’s emergency parking. “Was working his valet job when he was attacked. Hopefully he’s able to talk to us.”

“I’m surprised you still have valet’s,” Ichabod noted, and Abbie realized he probably know what she meant.

“They park cars for you,” she informed him. “Usually kids at fancy restaurants or hotels.”

“Oh,” Crane sighed, a little disappointed. 

“I told you,” Crane and Mills heard a young man’s voice echoing through the halls. “He was like a puzzle, like a Frankenstein or something!”

It wasn’t hard for Abbie or Ichabod to know that the loud young man was the person they wanted to talk to. Quickly they made their way into the exam room to find a skinny blond man who barely looked old enough to drive arguing with detective Morales. 

“Lieutenant Mills,” Morales greeted his former flame. “This is our vic, Simon Whitman.”

“Officers, I’m fine! I wanna go home,” the poor kid in the hospital gown complained. “I told this guy everything, I just got a scratch, see?” he said as he showed the them gauze on the side of his neck. 

“Detective Morales,” Crane stepped in. “Can we have a minute alone with young Mr. Whitman here?”

Luke Morales gave Abbie a weary look, but nodded his answer and stepped out of the room, careful not to travel far.

“Okay, Simon,” Abbie started talking to the young man. “Can you tell us what happened?”

“Fine, but I already told that guy and he didn’t believe me.”

“You might find us,” Crane told him. “A little more understanding.”

“I was just parking a car,” the young man told them. “Then out of nowhere this Frankenstein attacked me.”

“Uh huh,” Crane nodded. “And why did he attack you?”

“I told you, I don’t know!” The young man was starting to get angry again. “I was just parking Mr. Cutler’s car and I was attacked!”

“Wait, Cutler?” Abbie cut in.

“Yeah, the dude and his wife were going to dinner. So?”

“I think that’ll be all, I’ll send the doctor in to see about discharging you,” Abbie told the young man. “Just don’t go too far, you’ll probably need to testify in court. ’That is,’ Abbie thought to herself ’if there’s someone we can even try.’

“It’s Cutler this thing is after,” Crane observed once he and lieutenant Mills were safely alone. “But why attack his servants?”

“One,” Abbie corrected him. “They aren’t really his servants, so you probably shouldn’t refer to them as such, and two, if this really is some Frankenstein’s monster put together from the parts of those poor kids from the cemetery, then it might not be smart enough to know exactly what its attacking.”

“Right,” Ichabod nodded, then he couldn’t stop himself, he had to ask. “What’s a Frankenstein?”

Abbie couldn’t stop her giggle. “A little before, or I guess after your time I guess.” She gazed up at Ichabod’s inquisitive eyes and continued. “Dr. Frankenstein was a scientist in a book. He took parts of dead bodies and put them together before bringing the whole thing to life. Monster goes crazy, goes on a frenzy, then the doctor chases it to the north pole. It’s good.”

“So what you’re saying is that someone has taken the four corpses and put the parts together to make one whole?” Crane asked and Abbie nodded. “Whoever put them together is probably controlling the fiend now, using it to try to get to Cutler. We need to find out who, and why they are trying to kill Cutler.”

“I hope you don’t mind missing more sleep,” Abbie said as she grabbed another energy drink from the trunk of her cruiser and then tossed a second one to Crane. “Looks like there’s a long night ahead of us.”

Back at the station the pair were allowed their privacy in their enclave of discarded books and documents. With more caffeine in hand, Abbie was a fiend on her laptop, fingers racing along the keyboard with a constant clack clack clack that began to gnaw at Ichabod’s mind as he tried desperately to keep up with his partner by scouring through heavy leather bound books.

Their goal was to put the Cutlers together with the four boys killed in that horrific wreck from only a few weeks back. While the gardener, Carlos, and the valet, Simon, would probably never have crossed paths with the likes of the four now missing corpses, the Cutler family was wealthy and donated much of their time and money to the very college that the boys had attended. At least maybe now there was a link to try to chase.

Even though Crane struggled to stay awake, he refused another one of Abbie’s strange beverages, choosing instead to fight the uphill battle against sleep. The caffeine drinks made him feel edgy and weird, but with his renewed lack of energy more anxious thoughts began to creep back into his mind. 

Crane’s mind began to inch closer to the curious fantasy he’d had during his few moments alone, and it made him feel like he couldn’t sit still. Awkwardly he fidgeted on the couch where he was reading through town histories, his body feeling as uncomfortable as his mind. But the more sleep took over, the more the strange thoughts about his partner ebbed at the corners of his mind until he found himself deep in sleep.

In sleep Ichabod found himself returned to the woods of his dreams. The familiar smells and sounds seemed so real, yet even now he knew it was a dream, he knew Katrina had come to him and this time he was almost afraid. He was afraid how much she knew, if she could see in his mind and see the strange thoughts that tempted him, for oh how had he missed his Katrina and wished his mind would become clear again.

“Ichabod,” Katrina called to him and Crane spun to see his wife, beautiful as ever, reaching to him.

“Katrina,” Ichabod cried as he ran to her, taking her milky white hands that felt all too real in his own. “I miss you so,” he professed to her.

“Ichabod, there’s no time!” she warned him, her voice like a siren. “The coven seeks to destroy the last line. You cannot let the line fall! If the hunters fall nothing can stop them!”

“Katrina,” Ichabod said, confusion in his voice yet some relief that she was there to warn him of a nefarious plot, not to chastise him for the thoughts of a much too tired man. “I don’t understand, what line?”

“Find them!” Katrina called to him as her visage began to fade from view. “You need to save them!”

Abbie looked up from her laptop to see Crane in a restless sleep on the couch, completely zonked out. She felt bad for making the man work so late and on so little sleep and she couldn’t fault him for not being able to keep up with her at all times. She was use to the late nights and thirty-six hour shifts, Crane was not.

“Time for a break, anyway,” Abbie said to herself as she stood and stretched before making her way to the couch. And old knitted afghan blanket had been left slung over the back of the couch where Crane slept and she pulled it over her partner. Immediately he seemed to still and Abbie smiled as she looked down on the odd man.

His long limbs didn’t quite fit on the couch or under the blanket, yet he didn’t look awkward or gangly. Instead he looked lean and strong, even while sleeping. Abbie knew she’d lucked out on her new partner, even though getting to this point had been an uphill battle.

Abbie was determined to return to work, but seeing her partner finally getting rest filled her with something that was almost jealousy, but mostly the realization that despite how strong she was, she still needed to sleep at some point. She eyed an old sofa chair in the corner of the room and climbed into it. While it wasn’t the most comfortable way to sleep, she’d managed in worse. It wasn’t long until she joined Ichabod in slumber, drifting into a deep, unsettled sleep. 

Abbie didn’t rouse from her sleep until just after dawn, though until she checked the time on her cell phone she had no way to be sure when it was from the windowless room. What woke her wasn’t the time, nor light of day, but that familiar clack clack clack on the keys of her laptop.

“Good morrow,” Ichabod greeted her as she began to full wake. “I hope you slept well.”

“Not really,” Abbie said with a stretch, realizing that she was now covered in the faded afghan that she had covered her partner with earlier in the night. “What are you doing?” she asked Crane as she realized he was now sitting at her laptop, his eyes unmoving from the illuminated screen.

“This machine is fascinating,” Crane spoke as his hand moved to the wireless mouse. “I can access anything I need immediately. Truly remarkable.”

Abbie was amazed that her partner had taken to surfing the web so quickly, though she shouldn’t have been too surprised. It was how quickly Ichabod adapted to the new world around him, how fast he learned, that made her almost suspicious at times that he wasn’t quite telling the truth, despite everything she’d seen the last few weeks. 

Yet his feverous fascination with her laptop seemed to assure her that this was not trick, he had simply used his wits and was already excelling with this new technology that Abbie knew most people born over thirty years ago still had trouble with.

“Find anything interesting?” she asked him, trying to not act too shocked at how quickly he was learning.

“Aside from what people seem to view as entertainment these days and how the American government treats its citizens, yes in fact I have,” Ichabod told her, still not looking up from the computer.

“Like what?” Abbie asked as she joined her partner behind the laptop, resting an arm on the back of the chair where Ichabod sat. Try as he might, he couldn’t help but notice her standing over him, it was strange to have her looking over his shoulder and not the other way around.

“While I slept Katrina visited me again in my dreams,” Ichabod informed Abbie rather matter of factly. “She warned me that someone was hunting the last in a line of hunters, yet Cutler was not a name I recognized and the two previous victims were not local, nor had ties to the town.”

“So?” Abbie asked, unsure what Crane meant by ‘hunters’.

“Hunters of supernatural beings, of things left unseen, and mostly of witches,” Crane informed his partner. “Sleepy Hollow was home to many at one point, though it seems only one remains, this Cutler and his wife.”

“He’s not a hunter,” Abbie argued. “He’s a doctor and his wife runs the library.”

“True,” Ichabod agreed as he navigated to an open tab on the browser. “But he comes from a long line of hunters, and until his great grandmother was the sole heir of the family line and married into the Cutler name, the family was known by the surname of Van Brunt.”

“Van Brunt?” Abbie said, momentarily unsure what that meant. “Who were the Van Brunts?”

“A well respected family in Sleepy Hollow, for one,” Ichabod informed her as he brought up a second page explaining myths regarding hunters. “But more importantly, they were hunters. In fact, the Van Brunt heir, Brom, was betrothed to my Katrina until I arrived in Sleepy Hollow.”

“You home wrecker,” Abbie joked with Crane, but he didn’t seem to understand her meaning. 

“I assure you, I was not malicious or nefarious in my intentions towards Katrina,” he assured Abbie. “But one can assume that as part of a coven of witches she thought it wise to end her engagement to the son of a well respected hunter.”

“But still,” Abbie pestered. “Another man. How scandalous.”

“Quite,” Crane brushed her off. “But now we need to focus on who is controlling this monster. A witch, no doubt. We need to track down this ‘Frankenstein’ as you called it and find out who is pulling the strings.”

Abbie didn’t need further convincing, Crane was right. To find the person in control they needed to first find the monster that was trying to attack Cutler. “We’ll need to stake him out,” she told her partner. 

“My pardons?” Crane asked her, the jargon quite understood.

“We’ll go and watch him, watch his house, and stay near him and wait. When the monster appears, we’ll catch it, kill it, or follow it. Whichever one ends up working best.”

Crane knew there was no arguing. He knew that sometimes one had to sit back and observe before they could move in to action, and this was one of those occasions. Now he had to ensure that the strange, fleeting feelings brought on by his lack of sleep were not a recurring problem, at least he hoped not.


	3. Chapter 3

Lieutenant Mills pulled the dark green Camry around to the front of the station, pulling to a stop just outside the doors to let her partner climb into the passenger seat. The car was a fair bit more inconspicuous than the cruiser Abbie was accustomed to driving, which would serve the duo well. With Ichabod’s research and a little bit of what might be black magic, they finally had a clue to who, or what, was attacking people surrounding the Cutler family, and why.

“Coffee, then the Cutler’s,” Abbie informed Crane as he slid himself into the passenger seat of the unmarked police car. It was a fair bit more comfortable than the cruiser, but he wasn’t one to complain about the usual car so he made no mention of it.

This time Abbie opted for the drive through window, rather than wasting her time or energy going in and facing the Starbucks baristas. This would be faster, nothing more.

“You order into a box, and then your drinks are ready for you when you arrive,” Ichabod marvelled. “How ingenious.” 

“Only when they get your order right,” Abbie snarked, her lack of sleep playing havoc on her mood. She wasn’t looking forward to spending her night in a cramped car on a stakeout, but duty came before her own comforts and she would not let another innocent person fall victim to some supernatural killer simply because she was uncomfortable or tired.

At least she wouldn’t be alone. Abbie glanced over at Crane before darting her eyes back to her wallet, pulling out a stack of singles to pay for her and Ichabod’s drinks. He was good company and though his stories were often outlandish and hard to believe, they were at the same time quite fascinating. Add in his silky voice and gift for speaking and Abbie wasn’t too upset about having to sit in a car with him for what might be hours on end. 

“One venti red-eye,” the barista said from the window as she handed Abbie her very large coffee. “And a grande mocha cookie crumble frappuccino ,” she said as she passed over the drink that Ichabod had selected. He had wanted to be ’adventurous’ and Abbie had warned him it might be a bit sweet for what he was use to, he seemed to have his heart set on the sugary frozen drink.

“My,” he sneered as he took one sip from the straw. “You were not wrong about the sugar in this beverage. This is…” Ichabod wasn’t sure how to finish his thought, but yet even in his distaste he found himself returning to the straw and drinking more of the frozen concoction, unable to stop sipping the cold drink.

“I warned you,” Abbie laughed as they left the drive through lane and made their way towards the Cutler residence. “Maybe listen to me next time.”

“Yes,” Ichabod agreed, though he continued to sip his drink, adjusting to the taste with every sip. “Well, it’s not so bad now.”

Abbie chuckled as they pulled up to the cruiser that was parked in front of the Cutler’s gated driveway. Captain Irving was adamant about having a police presence outside the Cutler home ever since lieutenant Mills and Crane had determined that the attacks were directed at the wealthy family, but right now they needed the monster to show itself for them to follow it. The chances of it appearing while a cruiser was parked right out front were low, and Abbie told them it was Captain’s orders that they vacate so she and her partner could begin their stakeout.

“Do you do this often?” Crane asked her once they were alone, parked just up the street with a good view of the Cutler house. “Sit in your vehicle and watch?”

“When the job calls for it,” Abbie shrugged as she sipped her coffee. “Sometimes the only thing you can do is sit and wait for the bad guys to come to you.”

“True enough,” Crane agreed with a slight rise of his eyebrow. “Though the conditions here are much better than what I initially thought I’d agreed to. On previous scouting missions I often found myself in a ditch or tree. Sitting in a vehicle is much more favourable.”

“And what kind of ’scouting’ did you do?” Abbie asked, genuinely curious. Crane’s past, if true, was fascinating and the more she heard the more she wanted to know.

“Often just like this,” Ichabod smirked. “Though with worse company. We’d receive word that the British we’re on the move, their own plots taking form, and it was often my role to watch and learn. Though sometimes intervention was a necessity.”

A strange thought struck Abbie, her partner had seen war and seen tragedy. There was at least one man whose head he’d most definitely removed. How many men had Crane killed? The thought made her shudder briefly, but more than anything she felt sad for him. She’d only had occasion to use her firearm recently, and each time she felt death near by it added to her hurt. She wondered how much pain Crane had endured and she worried for her partner.

“Are you cold?” Ichabod asked her when he saw her shudder. “Would you like my coat?” he offered her, always the gentleman.

“I’m fine,” Abbie brushed him away. “Keep your eyes on the gate. You see anything and we move. Got it?”

Ichabod answered with a nod and returned his eyes to the Cutler’s lawn while he took another sip of his cold drink. The more he tried it, the more he adapted to the flavour and he dared to admit that he quite liked it. The sweet taste helped to keep him awake and helped to keep his mind from unwanted thoughts.

After an hour on the road the sun began to set and Abbie shifted uncomfortably in her seat while Crane remained stoic beside her. Her mind floated back to the last time she was sitting in a car, in the dark, staking out a possible perp. Corbin had been beside her, not Crane, and thinking about her former mentor made her heart ache.

Cold settled in the car and Abbie shivered, but Crane stared straight ahead as he had been instructed. In his old life he had spent countless nights hidden in snow and dirt in the winter chill just to have a chance to foil a redcoat plot. Sitting in the lieutenant’s car would be a much cosier way to keep watch, though now he wished he‘d selected a warmer beverage.

As hours passed in silence Crane reckoned it was a little after midnight when something in the night caught his eye. For the briefest of moments he thought it might be a cat, but he knew it was what they had been waiting for. 

Gently he took the lieutenant’s chin in his hand and slowly, methodically turned her head in the direction he was looking. A careless move or sound could betray their position and Abbie was just as aware of that as he. Together they watched as the creature shambled up the concrete sidewalk towards the Cutler family’s gate before he, it, put its hands on the wrought iron and tried to force the gate open.

Without words Abbie gestured to Crane to flank right while she slipped behind the creature, using the dark of night to go unnoticed to dispatch the bizarre monster while it was occupied with trying to open the gate.

The duo’s plan was interrupted when the creature managed to pry open the gate, a seemingly impossible task due to the chain and padlock that had been placed there by the Cutlers as an added measure of security. There was no way anyone should have been able to open that gate, but this was no ordinary man. 

The partners took chase of the monster and followed him through the gates. Abbie tossed her baton to Crane while she took her large flashlight in hand, hoping to avoid firing another shot. If they could take the beast down in one piece it may offer more clues to the true mastermind behind the crimes.

Despite stalking the monster in silence, the beast turned quickly, somehow knowing they were trailing it. With the heavy arm of a former football player, the beast swung at Crane but the limber man easily dodged out of the way of the strike. Abbie took the opening and with a heavy crack of her flashlight to the monster’s head the beast was laid out flat on the ground, unmoving.

“That was easier than I expected,” Abbie remarked, confused by how easily it had been to put the beast down. She was too busy being confused by the easy takedown of the monster to realize that she and Crane were still in danger.

“Lieutenant!” Crane bellowed at his partner a moment too late. From behind her he saw a second creature barrelling down upon the petite officer, this one with a fist raised and faster than the first had ever moved it swung its heavy hand and lifted Abbie near off her feet, sending her sprawling across the cold, wet lawn.

Like a lion, Ichabod moved between his downed partner and the new threat, using the baton to block heavy blows from the monster as he nimbly pushed the creature away from Mills. Ichabod had no way of knowing how badly injured Abbie was, and as he fought the monster he refused to think about it until he did away with the beast.

From the ground Abbie struggled to clear her head. Stars filled her eyes and the world spun from the blow she had taken. She felt like a train had hit her and she couldn’t seem to make her limbs work they way she wanted. In front of her she saw Crane and he almost looked to be dancing with some shadowy figure, and before her mind began to clear she wondered if he was dancing with the devil himself.

Ichabod could not even risk a glance back at his partner for fear that the monster would take any opening to send him sprawling. Each swing of its heavy fist was hard enough to break bone, and Crane could do little but dodge the blows, looking for someway to take the upper hand.

In the same moment both Crane and the monster seemed to spy the garden hoe that had been left discarded in the lawn. Both moved for it, but the monster was closer and its bulk easily blocked Crane’s move and soon the tool was in the beast’s hand, swinging wildly at Crane.

From the ground the stars in Abbie’s eyes finally began to clear and she saw her partner was in trouble. Despite his speed, despite how limber he was, he was running out of room to move as the creature advanced upon him.

She reached for her holster, yet her gun seemed so much heavier than before. With both hands she raised the gun and aimed at the monster, waiting until the last minute to yell, “Crane, get down!” before she fired, her shot flying true and hitting its mark, the back of the monster’s head. In an instant the battle was over, the monster fell to the ground and Crane let out a sigh of relief, more to see his partner, while hurt, was still in the fight.

Dropping her heavy gun to the cold ground, Abbie took her radio and called the station, requesting an ambulance while they were at it. While she didn’t want to think of herself as weak, she knew a blow to the head like that needed examining and she’d rather be safe.

“Are you all right?” Crane asked as he helped Abbie to her feet, but her balance was still a little off so he offered his arm to her for support.

“No,” she admitted to her partner with the weakest of smiles. “But I will be. Let’s hope there isn’t another one of these things running around.”

“Indeed,” Crane agreed as he spied the flashing lights of their backup. He helped Abbie back to the gates while keeping his eyes on the two monsters. He didn’t leave her side until she was safely in the ambulance and he watched with some relief as she was driven away to the hospital. He would visit her soon, but right now he had other matters to attend to. 

Ichabod had seen something that had caught his eye and only now could do anything to move upon his hunch. He moved to the first monster and in the light of the headlights from the cruisers that had gathered he could truly see what a terrible monstrosity it was that he had duelled. The beast’s face was pale grey, but just under the jaw heavy stitches wove through the skin and held the monster’s head in place. On its arms more stitches appeared and Crane could only imagine what the rest of the body looked like.

Though grotesque, that’s not what interested Crane. He crouched down to look at the monster’s hands and saw more clearly what he had only glanced before. A symbol was etched into the skin, similar to the one on the disturbed graves, but with different symbols, marked the palms of both monsters. Something in that mark was important, and Crane committed the symbol to memory.

He was about to take his leave and inquire about a ride to the hospital when something caught his eye. Around the neck of the first monster, the one Abbie had easily struck down, hung a small pendant and Crane was certain it held importance. Quickly he slipped it over the head of the monster and then moved to the second to confirm his suspicions. 

Ichabod allowed himself a cringe as he hand reached into the tattered shirt of the rapidly decaying monster. Its cold skin was clammy against his hand and it was not a sensation Crane would be happy to relive. But the pendant was there too, and he removed it before any of the officers saw him. 

“Officer,” Crane said as he approached one of the policemen, a young man who was resting against his cruiser. “Would you be so kind as to give me a lift to the hospital. I wish to see if my partner is well.”

The officer looked over at what must have been his supervisor then shrugged. “Sure, hop in.”

“Yes,” Crane said as he looked around. “I’ll ‘hop in’ as it were.”

“So you’re like, British?” the young officer asked as he pulled away from the scene at the Cutler house.

“Yes,” Ichabod told the man, thankful that the question was not more prying than that.

“You Brits sure dress different,” the officer remarked as he drove. “You ever met the queen?”

“I beg your pardon?” Ichabod asked, unsure why the man would assume Ichabod had ever met Queen Charlotte.

“I guess that’s stupid,” the officer laughed. 

“Quite,” Ichabod remarked, too tired to remember to be polite. 

Thankfully the hospital was only a few minutes away from the Cutler house and he left the car with a simple “thank you,” before rushing inside to ensure his partner’s wellbeing.

“Miss Abbie Mills,” Ichabod said to the surly looking middle-aged woman behind the sterile white counter. 

“Name?” the woman growled without looking up at Crane. 

“My name is Ichabod Crane, her partner.”

“Listen, bud,” the nurse said as she looked up at him finally. “I don’t care if you’re her partner, her life mate, or whatever. Unless you’re an immediate relative you don’t get to go in.”

“He’s her police partner,” Captain Irving’s voice came from down the hall. “And that makes him an acceptable visitor.”

The women let a snarl creep across her face but nodded in the direction Irving had come from. “Room 107.”

“Thank you,” Ichabod said with a nod, not really meaning the pleasantry. 

“Crane,” Irving greeted him in the hall. “I just finished speaking with lieutenant Mills.”

“Is she all right?” Crane asked, worry touching his eyes.

“She’s fine,” Irving reassured him. “Nasty bump on the head, but otherwise fine. You can see her in a minute. But first, what did you find at the scene?”

Crane thought for a minute before answering. He didn’t think it wise to reveal too much to the captain, but knew he couldn’t get away with saying nothing. Irving was a curious man, but Crane decided he could reveal at least some clues.

“There were two creatures, both with marks on their palms. A symbol that reflected that of the ones in the cemetery. It must be how they were kept somewhat alive.”

Irving nodded. “Excellent. When Mills is discharged I want a full report.”

“Of course,” Ichabod promised him, trying to get the captain to leave so that he could check on his partner himself. He finally felt some relief when Irving took his leave, finally getting to see Abbie himself.

“Crane,” Abbie greeted him when he entered her hospital room. “You’ve looked better.”

“I could say the same for you,” he smiled, happy to see that beyond some bandages, his partner looked no worse for wear. 

“Nah, I’ll be fine,” she smiled weakly. “Doctor wants me to stay overnight for observation. Good thing I’ve got good coverage. So what did you find?”

Ichabod reached into his pocket and pulled out the silver pendants and passed one to Abbie while holding on to the other to examine it. The two were identical and appeared to carry a family crest of sorts. Two snakes woven around a horned goat’s head. 

“What’s this?” Abbie wondered aloud while she used a fingernail to pry open the pendant. The moment she cracked it, the two sides split open and a fine black powdered showered over her.

“Hex powder,” Crane marvelled. 

“Sorry?” Abbie said, trying to brush the black powder off of her. “What the hell is hex powder?”

“A powerful witching ingredient,” Crane explained. “And it means that Katrina was right in her message to me. If we find out who these pendants belong to, we will find the witch trying to kill the Cutlers. I‘m certain I‘ve seen this symbol before.”

“Good,” Abbie nodded. “But tonight I think I do need to actually rest. I’ll meet you in the archive in the morning, okay?”

“Definitely,” Crane said and squeezed Abbie’s hand before retiring for the night. “Get some sleep.”

“Will do,” Abbie smiled as she watched Crane leave her side. “See you in the morning.”

Crane found Captain Irving waiting by the nurse’s desk and made his way to the captain. 

“Sir, if I may,” Crane began, unsure of the answer he would receive. “May I asked for a ride back to my inn?”

Irving cracked a slight smile and told Crane he’d be happy to give him a lift on his way home. Crane wasn’t sure if he could trust the man yet, but he wasn’t completely adverse to being in his company.


End file.
